


Midnight

by Mixxxyx



Series: Of Family and Madness [2]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - War, Angst, Brother Feels, Dream Smp, Evil Wilbur Soot, Fire, Gen, Insane Wilbur Soot, L’Manburg, Post-Elections, Post-L’Manburg Elections, Villain Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot Needs a Hug, Wilbur Soot-centric, manburg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:06:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27126955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mixxxyx/pseuds/Mixxxyx
Summary: Orange reflects the madness in his eyes and he wants to reach out. He wants to be one with the flames and their elegant heat. He wants more. More heat and more light and more fire.-The one where Wilbur is mad and everything is on fire.
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot
Series: Of Family and Madness [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1980004
Comments: 6
Kudos: 102





	Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> Another addition to this strange AU I’m working on! Not quite sure what to call it but oh well! I decided to go with Wilbur for this one, maybe I’ll do Techno or Dream next

The sky was bright, a weird occurrence for it being midnight. Orange dimmed and brightened irregularly over the navy horizon, lighting up the trees and hills, exposing the lush, flammable environment. It was beautiful destruction. For the reason behind this, was the civilisation in flames below. Houses and cafes and every other kind of building in the city was burning. It was his fault. He felt no bitterness nor satisfaction watching his former home succumb to the roaring flames. He had long tuned out the screams and cries to _stop, stop, please Wilbur stop_ —

Manburg was in flames and he smiled. But not quite. It wasn’t a smile. Smiles make your eyes shine and twinkle, humour or affection easy to spot. There was none here. He wasn’t smiling. It was more accurate to describe it as a baring of teeth. Malicious and manic. The madness in his eyes gave resemblance to a predator toying with its prey. That same madness only grew with the flames.  
The walls are gone. That wasn’t him, rather the new rule deciding that the power he had, that his land, wasn’t enough. He thinks about the new rule and the burning hot hatred roars in his chest. It claws at his ribs and it sits in his throat as a scream ready to escape. His blood is loud and hot in his ears. They took it from him. His home, his friends, his family. It was their fault. They took it! They took it all! They did this! The flames and the fire and the utter fucking devastation. That was them. It wasn’t him, he didn’t do this. No. He was _forced_ to! He _had_ to! He was the villain! It was them! He fought and bled and gave up everything for L’Manburg! Why would he destroy it? He pauses. Why would he destroy it? Why would he burn the houses he built? And the shops and the cafes and the people. Why? No one fought harder than him, he knows it. He was the president, he started this nation, he gave them freedom! No one fought harder than him. Not the two boys- _children_ , a faint but familiar voice whispers to him- that gave up their innocence for independence. Not his friend, who betrayed them for power and a crown. Not his son, who decided that he would be a better leader. Not his closest companion, who called him mad but turns to lead a useless rebellion against the new rule. He only has himself and his brother- ha, he used to have three. His brother who strikes fear into those who merely hear his name. His brother who doesn’t care for morals as long as he gets to kill. His brother the blood god. 

The fire is going strong. In the distance, he sees the people, those who were never involved in the messy politics of running a country, fleeing. They are dirtied, running with only the clothes on their backs and whoever was closest to them. The children weep for their homes. The adults mourn for lost souls. Manburg, still L’Manburg in most of their heads, was crumbling before their very eyes. So soon after freedom. So soon after his war. Old enemies turned allies, and former allies turned enemies. His world had flipped, but he sees the real world now. He sees the lies and manipulation and oh, how naive he’d been. He thought the world was fair. That he could make a difference. That he could be good. No, he thinks, I’m the villain now. And it doesn’t feel wrong to him. It feels right to have gunpowder on his hands and blood stained clothes. It feels right to have the heavy weight of a sword on his back and the blood god standing next to him. It feels so right. But he’s cold. He’s so cold. _Why is it so cold_? The night is warm, even without fire heating the land. However, his bones have a deep chill and he swears he’s turning blue. God it’s cold. The fire will warm him up. It will get rid of the cold. It will burn it all. Why fight if there’s nothing left to fight for? All he did was get rid of the reason for fighting, why did everyone try to stop him? He did good. He did good! He is closer to the fire now but he needs to be warmer. It’s still so cold. He’s closer and closer and closer but it’s still cold. His face feels hot enough to blister and the flames dance around him. They crackle and pop and lick at his feet but he’s still cold. The fire will make everything go away, just like he thought. The fire will fix it all. Orange reflects the madness in his eyes and he wants to reach out. He wants to be one with the flames and their elegant heat. He wants more. More heat and more light and _more fire_.  
  
There is suddenly a hand on his arm and he’s being tugged away. He recognises the deep monotone of his brother’s voice and lets himself be lead. If he was slightly more aware, he would have picked up on the worried hint in his brother voice or the uncertain glances the pink haired man threw back at him. If he was more aware, he would have noticed his brother question his sanity and whether he made the right choice. But he wasn’t. He was trapped in the want for warmth. He craves for the flames to consume the world and him with it. Then everyone will be warm and no one will fight and everyone will be happy and they can be a _family_ — He stumbles, falling to his knees. He stares at the grass and his hands clench around singed grass and his body aches. The fire in his veins is pumping and rushing and pounding. His brother kneels and shakes him, calling his name. He laughs. And he doesn’t stop. It continues until it’s hysterical and uncomfortable and loud. He looks up to his brother, still laughing, and manages to wheeze out a shaky breath. Then he isn’t laughing. The heat is leaving him, is he bleeding? There’s hot, burning liquid dripping. It’s dripping and falling and it’s coming from his face? He’s crying and sobbing and wheezing. He’s screaming and his hands leave the ground as he reaches for his hair. He wants to pull it out and shout and he just wants it to _stop_ — His brother captures his hands and talked to him in rushed, low tones. He doesn’t understand a word being said, it all blends with the crackling and his crying and the distant screaming. And he realises that he’s lost his mind. Sitting on grass he burned, sobbing in front of the city he destroyed with only his brother. He realises he’s lost his mind. And he wonders.  
_When did it become so cold?_


End file.
